


Worship the King

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [88]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Loki (Marvel), Body Worship, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Lazy Mornings, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Love, Morning Cuddles, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Reader-Insert, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24851491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: You wake up in the morning before Loki does, and you take advantage of the opportunity to take in his beauty.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [88]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 8
Kudos: 186





	Worship the King

It wasn’t often that you woke up before Loki did, but you loved it when you did. 

On a normal day, you would awaken to the feeling of his hands on you. He’d wake up who knows how much earlier than you did, and seemed to pass the time by merely touching you. He would brush his fingertips along your arm, along your side. It tickled, a little, but never badly enough to make you want to complain. When he discovered that you were awake, he’d grasp your hip and pull you towards him so that you were lying on your back, and then stretch out on top of you. He never broke eye contact, and the intensity in his gaze always flustered you, so early in the morning. He’d kiss you deeply, seemingly not caring a bit about your morning breath. It always made you feel like he’d simply been waiting for this—to kiss you—since you’d fallen asleep together the night before. He was...a lot, especially first thing in the morning, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But this morning, you were the first to open your eyes. At first, something felt strange, but you couldn’t quite decide what it was. Only after rolling onto your back did you realize that it was the fact that you’d woken up on your own, without Loki’s touch. How quickly you’d grown used to his presence here. 

He was still asleep. Carefully, you turned to face him, and couldn’t pull your eyes away from his face. Seeing him sleeping always made you feel proud, like he’d decided that you were trustworthy enough to let himself be so vulnerable here. His face was soft. Early-morning sunlight poured in through the window beside the bed and illuminated his perfect bone structure. One look at him was all it took to know that he was not from Earth. When he was awake, his face always felt kind of sharp and angular: beautiful in an otherworldly kind of way. But now, while he slept, he looked almost angelic. Your fingers ached to touch him, but you resisted the urge, unwilling to risk waking him right now. 

Instead, you traced his profile with your eyes alone. Heavy brows, which so often told you how he was feeling even when he wouldn’t speak. Loki was not an overly-expressive man, but your ability to decipher his face was growing. Sometimes you worried him, and the way his brow would crease and furrow gave him away. It was enough to break through your worst depressive episode, and, though it did sometimes make you feel even worse to know that you were upsetting him, he always made you feel surrounded with perfect love. A strong nose. He knew what he could do to you with something as simple as his nose, and he wasn’t shy about it. When he kissed you, you could feel his nose brush against your cheek. He’d nuzzle your neck and savor the way you shivered in his arms. This morning, sunlight caressed it exactly the way you wished to do, tracing a gentle line along the slope of his nose.

His lips. Just looking at them was enough to make the heat rise into your cheeks. He kissed you like he was starving, like he could devour you whole without a second thought. He was demanding, of course, and took what he wanted without waiting for permission, but only because by now he knew that you’d never refuse him. And he could be so tender, too. Sometimes he kissed your neck, your shoulder, and the feeling of it gave you the chills. He never _merely_ sought to devour. He could also touch, taste, explore. Tease. You had to close your eyes for a moment as you remembered the countless times that he’d managed to make you cry out for him, whining and pleading, with nothing more than the soft brush of his lips. Each time, those same lips curled into a smile with equal parts smugness and fondness.

His cheekbones were _dangerous_. They were, you realized, what made his face look so sharp when he was awake. This morning, one caught the sunlight while the other rested in relative shadow. You loved to touch them. They were just right for caressing with your thumbs when it was your turn to cup his face in your palms. In the beginning of things, when you touched him, he would close his eyes as though to hide himself from you. More and more lately, however, he didn’t. He let himself be bare with you, completely open, and the love in his eyes always made your own sting with the threat of tears. 

His jawline. Sharp. Angled. Almost severe, sometimes, depending on the look in his eyes. Before him, you’d never thought to care much about jawlines, but now you caught yourself scanning other faces to mentally compare them to his. He often tucked his head in a bit, tilting it downwards while smirking at you, and just that one expression was enough to make you back away from him and laugh nervously. You knew he’d never hurt you, but when he looked at you like that, you knew you were done for. He’d watch you retreat, eyes flashing like a predator’s, and then he’d pounce. 

It was good that he was asleep, you mused to yourself. Your face was burning and you knew that, if he were awake, he’d relish that. He had a way of looking at you and just...seeing straight through all of your defenses. As much as you tried to hide what it was you were feeling—and you’d gotten _good_ at that over the years—it was like he could see the truth in an instant. Perhaps that shouldn’t have been so surprising from one who’d been called the god of lies. What was surprising, though, was how he also seemed to know when he could push you. He could look at you and know when you needed a moment to yourself and when you were open to a little prodding. He knew when you needed to talk your way through something and when you just needed to be left alone with your thoughts. He even seemed comfortable with both: he could sit beside you, or across from you, and take your hands and ask you, so gently, to tell him what was bothering you, and he could take you into his arms and let you hide your face in his shoulder and simply hold you. 

Loki was the person you’d needed when you were younger. When you were small and frightened, or bigger and hopeless, you would sometimes try to comfort yourself by imagining some sort of friend was right there with you. This friend, always faceless, had an air of strength and understanding. They never took any sort of corporeal form, but you could imagine yourself talking to them or taking shelter against them, and they always made you feel safe and protected from whatever was happening in the next room. Or inside your mind. This man sleeping peacefully in your bed, he was the physical embodiment of all of those things. Sometimes it was like your desperate mind had conjured him to help you. To love you.

Lying there in the morning sunlight, you blinked back your tears. What would he say if he were awake right now? You imagined the way he might tease you, pretending to be hurt by the way looking at him was enough to make you cry. You hoped he’d know that it was so much more than that. You moved a little closer to him, still careful not to disturb him, and pressed your forehead against his temple. He sighed in his sleep and turned toward you to press more firmly into your touch.

Whatever had brought him here, whatever had caught his attention and made him fall in love with you, whatever led him here, to your bed, you were eternally grateful. It all seemed so improbable, but here he was. Next to you. Slowly, you were coming to terms with the idea that you weren’t likely to wake up and discover that this all had been a lovely dream. You were beginning to accept that this was real.

Loki drew in a breath. By now you were so familiar with the sound of him that you knew he was awake. Sure enough, he raised his arm to press it against your back and pull you in closer. He turned and kissed your forehead. “Good morning, love.” He never sounded froggy, but in the mornings, his voice did tend to rumble through his chest a little more. It filled you with a familiar warmth. You closed your eyes and kissed his cheek. 

“G’morning. You look really pretty right now.”

He laughed quietly. Even with as open as he could be around you, it wasn’t often that you made him blush. But you liked to do it. He deserved to hear good things about himself. He needed it. Perhaps he’d never admit that aloud, but he did. Most days, you were more than willing to spend hours telling him how wonderful he was, how perfect, how he made you feel. He never let you go on that long. Obviously you knew that you couldn’t undo the damage from his childhood simply by complimenting him now, but it hurt you that he’d gone so long with so little acknowledgment from others. Had it taken a mere mortal to realize how miraculous he was? Could Asgardians truly be particularly superior to humans if they couldn’t see that in him? 

“My love, wake up. I fear you’re dreaming.” His voice made it clear that he was teasing, even as the barest hint of truth shone through in his words. He turned onto his side so he could push _you_ onto your back, and then, as he often did, stretched out above you. He patted your cheeks, your forehead, and scattered soft kisses along your face. “Are you feverish? Delirious? My love, if you are well, speak to me!” 

You submitted to his game for a while, before your laughter and the need to reassure him simply grew too strong in you. Then you reached up to take hold of his hands. He let you. “I’m fine,” you said, speaking just sharply enough to make him listen to you. “And you are _beautiful_. I love you.”

He didn’t blush that time, but you did treasure the way his lips curled into a smile. He lowered his eyes for a moment. “And I you, my darling.” He lowered himself down a bit until his body pressed solidly to yours. The weight of him was comforting. You released one of his hands so you could touch his hair, stroke it. He closed his eyes again and brought your other hand to his lips to kiss it. The two of you stayed there like that for some time, enjoying one another’s presence. Reveling in the warmth of the love you shared.


End file.
